Missing Laura
by susanwrites
Summary: Laura is kidnapped, and it is up to Remington Steele and Mildred Krebbs to find her. UPDATED
1. Chapter 1

Missing Laura – Chapter One

"Plans for the long weekend, Miss Holt?" asked Mildred Krebs as Laura Holt locked up her office, slung her handbag over her shoulder, and headed for the door.

"Oh! Mildred. I didn't know you were still here. I thought I was the only one who stayed late to tidy up messy files."

"Just fooling around on the computer," explained Mildred. "The instructor at the evening class I'm taking said that's the best way to learn the stupid thing."

Laura noticed Mr. Steele's closed office door. "I see Mr. Steele didn't bother burning the midnight oil tonight." She sighed. Mr. Steele was always the last to come in the morning and the first to go home at night. Still, he was learning. Much less the figurehead he had become when she met him a couple of years ago, Laura had to admit that there were many times on many cases when she didn't know what she would have done without Mr. Steele. It would be nice if he stuck around every once in a while. Maybe they could check out that little English-style pub that opened up a couple of blocks away, or maybe they could grab a movie together.

"He said something about wanting to get an early start on the weekend," Mildred said, giving Laura an odd look. "Did you want him for something?"

"No!" Too fast. Too desperate sounding. Laura tried to recover. "I mean, I hope he has a good time, whatever he plans for the weekend."

Mildred smiled an enigmatic smile. "Oh, from what he told me, Miss Holt, I think he'll have a wonderful time."

"Yes, well . . . have a good weekend, Mildred." Laura regarded the older woman non-chalantly. "Do you have any special plans?"

A spark lit up Mildred's eyes. "Some friends and I are going to a computer expo in Silicon Valley. I thought I could learn a lot there. Plus, I want to see about ways to update our system here in the office."

Laura's heart sank. She would be alone for the weekend. Again. And this wasn't even a regular weekend. She had to deal with Monday, too. She had already called Frances and Donald. They were heading up to Bear Lake for a camping trip with the kids. They had asked Laura to join them, but she didn't want to be a burden on them. She knew they cherished their family time together. She didn't want to horn in on that.

After bidding Mildred a final goodnight, Laura took the elevator down to the parking garage, got into her VW Rabbit, and drove through the night to her loft. Maybe she shouldn't stay home alone after all, she thought. Maybe she should pack a bag and head up the coast, take a little vacation. If she was going to be alone, she might as well do it in a little hotel somewhere on the beach, eating out and enjoying the sights.

She noticed the wounded animal as soon as she parked the Rabbit outside of her building. Somebody had probably hit it with their car and left it to die. If it was still alive, she could take it to an animal hospital. It was cruel to leave it lying there suffering.

Laura grabbed a sweatshirt she had in the trunk of the car to wrap the animal in. As she got closer, she wondered if the poor thing was dead after all. It wasn't moving at all, and it wasn't making any kind of sound. Then she thought it looked very strange. What kind of animal was it? It wasn't until she was right on top of it that she saw it wasn't a real animal at all, just a very realistic-looking stuffed animal. She didn't know whether to smile that she didn't have to worry about the well-being of another living thing or to kick herself for being so stupid.

It was this thought that was on her mind when she felt two strong arms encircle her from behind. She smelled the rancid odor of foul breath and felt the sting of a needle in her arm before losing consciousness completely.

Unaware of her own fate, Laura was shoved roughly into the back of a cargo van, her assailant taking a moment to bind her ankles and wrists with duct tape. For later. He also put some over her mouth and eyes, just so all bases were covered. Then he threw his stuffed animal bait in with her, shut and locked the door, slid into the driver's seat, and drove calmly away.

In less than two minutes time, Laura Holt had disappeared off the face of the earth.


	2. Chapter 2

"How did she seem?"

"A little sad," replied Mildred. "I think she's lonely. She'd never admit it, though."

"Did she suspect anything?"

"No, Boss. She doesn't think your weekend includes her at all. I guarantee that if you call her now, she'll willingly agree to your plans."

Remington Steele smiled sardonically. "Miss Holt never does anything willingly," he said. "Enjoy Silicon Valley, Mildred. We'll see you Tuesday."

"I can't wait to hear all the dirt!"

Steele hung up the telephone and immediately picked it up again and dialed Laura's number. No answer. Odd. He figured she would be home by now. He hung up and double-checked his materials. He had two plane tickets that would whisk them away to Sun Valley, where the skiing was just perfect this weekend. He had booked adjoining rooms at the lodge, and he'd even made dinner reservations.

Dialing the number again, Steele let it ring twenty times before hanging up. He waited a moment, brow furrowing slightly, then dialed another number.

"Mildred?"

"Boss? What is it? Did she say no?"

"She hasn't said anything. She's not home yet. Did she say she was stopping off somewhere?"

Mildred was puzzled. She knew Miss Holt had no other plans. She had made sure of that. Even her sister Frances was in on it, and she would have said something if Laura had decided to go with them to Bear Lake.

"Maybe she just had to stop off at a grocery store. I'm sure that's it. She probably had a last-minute errand to run."

"At 10:00 at night?"

"There are 24-hour stores. Just keep trying. She'll be home soon."

Steele hung up again. He had a strange feeling in his gut. A feeling that something was wrong. If Laura Holt was anything, she was a creature of habit. She often stayed late at the office, but she wasn't one to make any late-night stops on her way home. He spent the next two hours calling, hanging up, and calling again. He double- and triple-checked to make sure he had the right phone number. At midnight, he called Mildred again, and they agreed to meet at Laura's loft.

Twenty minutes later he pulled up and parked beside the Rabbit. So she was home! Maybe something was wrong with her telephone. Maybe, for some reason, she wasn't picking up. Maybe – his heart sank at the thought – she had decided to take a short vacation on her own and had already left. She could have easily called a cab to take her to the airport. He ran up all three flights of stairs, not bothering to stop and catch his breath as he usually did, and knocked loudly on Laura's loft door. When there was no answer, he banged on it with his fist. She was probably asleep.

He was still knocking when Mildred climbed the last step, a puzzled look on her face and a rumpled gray sweatshirt in her hand.

"What is it, Mildred?" he asked. "What is that?" He pointed to the shirt.

"Something's wrong, Boss," Mildred said. She sounded confused and scared. "This is Miss Holt's. It's her Stanford sweatshirt. She wore it when she helped me paint my kitchen. See? Here's some of the blue on the wrist." Mildred regarded it for a moment, as if trying to figure something out. "Boss? It was lying out in the parking lot. Just lying there. Why would it be there, Boss?"

Steele took the sweatshirt out of Mildred's hands. It was Laura's. He had seen her in it. He buried his face in it. It even smelled like Laura: like a field of wildflowers.

"Wait here," he said to Mildred. "I'm going to go call the police."


	3. Chapter 3

Steele suspected it was the presence of Laura's sweatshirt on the parking lot pavement that spurred the police to act right away. It was suspicious, that sweatshirt being there. It hadn't been right next to the Rabbit, as if Laura had just accidentally dropped it. It had been about 20 feet from the car, in the opposite direction of the apartment building. What on earth had she been doing? Where had she been going? Did she leave the sweatshirt deliberately as a clue? Or did it fall to the ground in a moment of violence?

Steele felt totally out of his element. He had been beginning to think he had this detective thing down, that he had been becoming quite adept at following clues and drawing conclusions. Now all he knew was that Laura was gone and he didn't know where she was.

He didn't even know if she was still alive.

The police searched Laura's car and found her purse and her keys. There were no shopping bags, so she hadn't stopped off anywhere between work and home. They got the building manager to let them into her loft, but it was clear she hadn't been there since morning. Her bed was neatly made, the coffee pot half full and cold, and a dirty coffee cup was in the kitchen sink. Her cat, Nero, followed the officers around the apartment, whining for its food, until someone set out a tray of milk for it.

Steele and Mildred were questioned, as were the neighbors. Nobody saw or heard anything. Laura's picture was circulated around the neighborhood and given to patrolmen. Nothing. Tuesday morning, Steele and Mildred were back at the office, sitting in silence, both trying to keep thoughts of what could have happened to Laura out of their minds.

"Boss?"

"Yes, Mildred."

"I think Frances and Donald must be back by now. I'm going to try to call them."

"Good idea."

"Maybe she's been with them the whole time."

"She would have said something. Frances would have said something."

"I know."

Steele returned his attention to the folder he was looking at. It was a list of sexual predators in and near Laura's neighborhood. There were so many of them. If someone touched Laura, hurt her in any way, Steele didn't know . . . well, he just didn't know. A strange anger boiled up inside of him at the thought. It was an uncontrolled kind of anger, a kind of anger that made him want to rip a person apart.

Detective Travon from the Missing Persons Division of LAPD had given Steele the list. Steele didn't plan on sharing it with Mildred. Or Frances. Or Abigail Holt. Why put them through what he was going through?

Laura wasn't necessarily taken by a sexual predator, Detective Travon had assured him. Maybe she had decided to take off on her own without telling anyone. This seemed unlikely Her luggage was untouched in her closet, her purse with all her ID and money had been left in her car, and where could she have gone without her car, anyway, and no money to pay for a cab?

Steele hadn't told Mildred about the terrible conversation he had overheard between Travon and some uniformed officers. It had to do with two known serial killers in the area and their MO's.

How could there be sexual predators and serial killers just wandering around with regular people? How could the police be so calm about the whole thing? "Check the morgues," Travon had told the uniforms. "Check dumpsters."

They were looking for a body. Laura had been missing 82 hours, and they were already looking for a body. Every hour that passed, Travon had told him, made it that much more likely that she was dead.

He hadn't said it in so blunt of terms, but that was what he'd meant.

The worst part was the feeling of helplessness. What if Laura was waiting for him to help her? To rescue her. And he didn't even know where to begin.

Mildred knocked and let herself in. Steele quickly closed the folder and put it in his desk drawer.

"I called Frances. Laura's mother is flying out here now; Frances and Donald are on their way over."

"Thank you, Mildred."

"Um . . . boss? There's someone here to see you."

"I'm not interested in any new cases at the moment, Mildred."

"She's not here for that. She's . . . well, I can't explain it . . ."

"Show her in, Mildred."

The woman who entered was average in every way: average height, average weight; her hair was an average brown color; her clothes were neither flamboyant nor dowdy. Just . . . average. Steele couldn't tell what color her eyes were, as they were hidden behind large, dark-framed glasses. He rose to greet her and shook her hand before she seated herself on the chair near his desk.

"My name is Mary Anderson," she began. Average name, thought Steele. "I know that you don't know me and I don't know you, and I certainly have no need for a private investigator, but, well, something happened on Saturday night that just won't seem to leave me alone."

"I'm terribly sorry, Ms. Anderson," said Steele. "We have a bit of a crisis happening around here right now, and I just don't see that I . . ."

"It's about Laura Holt, isn't it?" she interrupted.

"How do you know about her?" Steele immediately looked upon the woman with suspicion. Could he be looking face to face with Laura's kidnapper? Surely this woman alone couldn't have overtaken Laura in that dark parking lot Friday night. Unless, of course, Laura was unable to fight back.

"I don't know anything about her. We've never even met, which is why I don't understand . . . Please, just hear me out. Then maybe we can make some sense of this together."

"Continue, then," said Steele. The anger was boiling up again. How could this woman know anything about Laura if she wasn't involved?

"It was Saturday night, and I was at home watching television. I had made a pot of tea, and I was home alone. Well, I'm usually home alone, but I guess you wouldn't know that. Anyway, I guess it was around 10:00 when the TV started flickering on and off, like it does sometimes when it's real stormy outside. Only the sky was perfectly clear, there was no wind, nothing like that. So I couldn't figure it out. Then there was this name in my head, clear as day. It was like there was someone in the room with me, telling me the name. 'Laura Holt,' the voice said. And then – and this was the part that really freaked me out – then the voice said, 'Help me.'"

Steele's stomach lurched. Was this a joke? Was this woman involved somehow? There was to be a piece about Laura on the front page of _The Times_ tonight. Other than that, the only people who knew about Laura's disappearance were Mildred, Laura's family, the police, and himself. Maybe this woman knew someone who worked for the LAPD and had overheard something. Or maybe she worked for _The Times_.

"Where do you work?" he asked.

She seemed puzzled. "At a pet store," she said. "I'm a groomer."

"How did you hear about Laura?" Steele asked. It took everything he had to keep control and not shake this woman down for information.

"I just told you," the woman said. "I've never heard about Laura Holt before Saturday night. But that's not all. That Saturday I was a little freaked, but I thought it must have been my imagination or something. Maybe some bad chicken cacciatore. So I went to bed and tried to forget about it. You might think what happened next was a dream, but I don't. It was too real. I don't know what time it was, but it was still dark when something woke me. I was terrified. I couldn't move. I just lay there in bed, with my covers pulled up around me, so afraid I couldn't close my eyes. My room got real cold, too. I could see my breath. I heard sobbing. I thought it was me at first, but I was too scared even to cry. Then there was this weird blue light in the corner of the room. It got brighter, and I saw . . ."

She stopped, seeming to become aware of how crazy her story actually sounded. She fretted with the hem of her sweater for a moment.

"Continue," prodded Steele. "What did you see?"

"A woman. She was sitting hunched over in the corner. She was, uh, bound. Her ankles and her wrists were tied up with duct tape. There was also duct tape over her eyes and her mouth. But she still looked up at me. It was the creepiest thing. It was as if she could see me, even through the tape."

"What did she look like?" Steele asked. "What was she wearing?" If this woman knew that, then that meant the woman also knew something about Laura's disappearance.

"It was hard to tell what she looked like because of all the tape," Mary Anderson replied. "But she was thin, and she had brown hair that was a little longer than shoulder length. She was wearing gray slacks," she continued, closing her eyes to remember. "A white blouse. A lavender sweater. Her feet were bare."

Laura had been wearing a white blouse and a lavender sweater on Friday. "How do you know all this?" asked Steele. "What do you know about Laura's disappearance?" He wanted to grab the woman, hit her, shake her until she told him what he wanted to know. She seemed to sense or see the anger in his eyes.

You don't believe me. I can see that. There is one more thing I can tell you that may convince you that I saw what I saw. After I saw the vision, I heard that voice in my head again. It was like it was somebody speaking to me in the same room, but at the same time it was inside my head."

She stopped talking. She looked apprehensively around the room. Steele was ready to lose it right there. "What did the voice say, Ms. Anderson?" he asked with forced restraint.

"It said, 'Get Remington Steele. Tell him to find me. Tell him to forget Cannes.' I have no idea what that means, but I looked Remington Steele up in the phone book and found your agency. And, well, here I am."


	4. Chapter 4

"Forget Cannes." That was what had done it for Steele. Nobody knew about Cannes. Nobody. Except for Laura and him.

He had arranged to speak with Mary Anderson later on at her home. He just couldn't buy the idea that Mary had had a psychic episode, but he thought maybe something would happen at her home tonight. In the meantime, he filled a skeptical Mildred in on what had happened. Mildred was sure Mary Anderson knew something about Laura's disappearance. Steele convinced her that even if the woman knew something, investigation and questioning was probably the best way to find out. They waited impatiently for their meeting time to come.

The office was as silent as a tomb.

"Boss, we really should go over to Frances and Donald's and see Abigail."

"You go, Mildred. I . . . I can't."

Mildred stepped behind the desk and placed a hand on Steele's shoulder. "Nobody blames you, Boss," she said gently. "They need your support. They need your love."

Steele winced at the word. As if he was a part of their family. That was how Laura had always made him feel. Frances and Abigail, too.

"Travon is there," he reasoned. "Uniforms."

"They need us, Boss," said Mildred. "They need you. And then we can head over to that Anderson woman's house."

He agreed, if not just to be proactive.

Steele had visited Laura's sister's home on numerous occasions, but he had never seen the mood so somber. Even the children had retreated to their rooms, possibly feeling as if it were better to remain unseen and quiet in these trying times.

"Mr. Steele," said Abigail as soon as Steele was seated in the living room with coffee. "Please tell me what's going on. This Detective Travon isn't worth anything. I keep telling him we practically have a professional in the family."

"Laura was a professional," Steele replied.

"Of course, Mr. Steele, but you know what I mean. I need someone competent to find my daughter. I mean, I'm not saying that Laura wasn't competent. Isn't. Isn't competent."

"She taught me so much." He wasn't even talking about detective work anymore.

"Uh, Remington?" Frances sat on the couch next to him, holding a large photo album. "We were looking at some of these photos of Laura." She ran an open hand along the outside of the album as if it were a cherished heirloom. "For the police, you know." Her voice broke, and she took a moment to compose herself. "We thought maybe you'd like to look."

She pushed the album in Steele's hands and left the room quickly. Donald followed. Abigail slid next to Steele and opened the album. "This one's Laura," she said, pointing to a black-and-white photo of a chubby toddler with big brown eyes and dark curls. "Here she is on her first day of school." The photo showed Laura pulling annoyingly at a starched plaid dress. "This one's the same day, after school." Laura in this photo was dressed in jeans and a blouse and riding her bike down the road, away from the camera. Like she was trying to get away. Like she was trying to escape. Maybe that's why she was missing now. Maybe she just wanted to escape.

Then why didn't she call to let everyone know she was all right?

And what about Mary Anderson and her visions?

Steele knew that, if she could possibly do it, Laura would let them know she was okay.

He stood abruptly, allowing the photo album to fall to the floor.

"I've got to go," he said. "I can't . . . I need to . . ."

"Mr. Steele," said Abigail, standing with him, ignoring the pictures on the floor. "Please. I'm begging you, please, please bring my daughter home." She took his hands and looked into his eyes, her, eyes, reminding Steele so much of Laura's, brimming with unshed tears. "Even if she's just coming home to be . . ." Her voice broke and a large tear escaped down her cheek. " . . . to be buried, please bring her back."

What could he say? That he had no idea where to start? That his only lead was a crackpot who thinks she saw a vision of Laura? That he was willing to believe this woman because she said "Forget Cannes"? Abigail was expecting miracles because he was Remington Steele, Miracle Worker. But the fact was, the only miracle worker in the Remington Steele Detective Agency was Laura Holt.

Without a word, Steele squeezed Abigail's hand and kissed her cheek. He strode to the door, caught Mildred's eye, and headed out. Moments later Mildred joined him, and they drove to Mary Anderson's house.

It was a small bungalow on a tidy street lined with identical small bungalows. Mary welcomed them into her home, and they sat in silence in the living room. Cups of coffee cooled on the coffee table. Mary pointed to the television. "This is the one that flickered," she said. She nodded at Steele, who was sitting on the couch. "That's where I was sitting when I heard her name."

She showed them the bedroom and the corner where she saw the figure of the duct-taped woman.

They waited. They waited for something to happen. Anything. Steele wondered if this is what Laura would do. Probably she would have found him by now, if he were the one missing. He felt as if he were letting her down.

9:00 came and went. 9:30. Mildred made calls every ten minutes to Abigail to see if there was any news. There was none. A clock somewhere chimed 10:00. And with it came a sound from the bedroom. It was a muffled sound. A feeble cry. Steele jumped up. The logical part of him thought maybe there was somebody else in the house; the emotional part of him could only think of Laura. Was that her cry, somewhere in the dark?

"In the bedroom," said Mary. They all rushed there. The temperature in the bedroom was much colder than the rest of the house. Icy cold.

"There!" said Mary. "In the corner."

Steele looked. He saw nothing. He caught Mildred's eye, and she shook her head.

"What do you want?" said Mary. She was looking into the dark corner. "What do you want from me?"

Steele watched her closely. She seemed to be concentrating on the corner. "Steele," she said in a whispery voice. "Yes, Remington Steele. He's here. Are you Laura Holt? Where are you? Everybody's looking for you."

Mary was silent again, concentrating on the corner.

"She can't see anything, she says. She can't speak or move. It's all black where she is, and very cold."

"Oh my God," breathed Mildred. "Is she . . . is she . . . ?"

"She's alive," said Mary. She seemed to be in some sort of a trance, transfixed on the corner. "She wants you to come get her. She doesn't know how much longer she can last. She wants to tell you something. She keeps saying 'Help me.' 'Help me,' over and over again."

Steele noticed that the temperature of the room was rising. Mary stared for a moment more at the corner, then seemed to shake herself awake.

"Did you see it?" she asked. "Did you see the duct-taped woman in the corner?"

Steele shook his head.

"It was so cold," said Mildred. "Do you think it's that cold where Laura is?"

Frustrated, Steele didn't know what to think. Could he believe Mary? Or was she just a crazy person? Maybe she really did have knowledge about Laura's whereabouts, but on a more sinister basis. He was angry and confused and bitterly sad. He just wanted Laura back. He just wanted all of this to be a bad dream.

They left Mary's house with no more solid information than they had before.

"Let's look at the facts," Steele said. "She left the office at around 9:30 on Friday night. She made it to the parking lot. Her sweatshirt was found in the opposite direction of her loft." He paused. "Where was she going? Why would she go that way?"

"She would never go with someone willingly," Mildred said.

"She never does anything willingly," Steele said, reminiscing on an earlier statement, made in a happier time.

"Boss . . .," said Mildred hesitantly, "I know someone who might help. But it's a long shot. And it's not . . . conventional."


	5. Chapter 5

Mildred knew about Tatiana Kolchek from her bowling group. They had attended a charity carnival together and had each paid extra for a reading with a psychic. Tatiana had not seemed as flashy as some other psychics Mildred had seen. She was young and soft-spoken. But she gave a good, solid reading, and Mildred came away believing that, if such a thing as extra-sensory perception did exist, Tatiana Kolchek possessed it.

After contacting Tatiana through the people who sponsored the charity carnival, Mildred arranged to meet with her at Laura's loft. She got the key from Frances and met Mr. Steele there at 9:00 on Thursday night.

Laura had been missing nearly 144 hours.

Detective Travon had told them that the story in the newspaper had yielded some leads, which he and his men were currently following up. So far, nothing had panned out.

Frances, Donald, and Abigail had gathered volunteers and were creating flyers and handouts. Steele passed several of them every day. They were bleak, depressing posters showing different photographs of a happy Laura smiling into the camera. "Have you seen this woman?" was written across the top. Laura's statistics and the circumstances surrounding her disappearance followed, but Steele could never get past the pictures. It was as if she was looking directly at him, questioning him, "Why haven't you found me? Where are you?"

"I don't know where to look," Steele whispered back to the poster. To himself, he thought, I'm a failure. I have failed Laura.

Being in her apartment was almost too much. Her coffee cup was still in the sink; her coffee maker still had cold coffee in it. Frances had taken Nero home with her, and Steele knew the children had taken it upon themselves to make sure the cat was being well cared for. There were places that were untidy from the police, who had tramped in and out of the apartment, looking fruitlessly for clues. Here and there were the gray traces of fingerprint powder, but nothing out of the ordinary had been found. They did find some things that told them Laura had not left of her own accord, things she would never leave behind. Family photos, a pendant that belonged to her grandmother. There was even a watch in her jewelry box that Abigail said belonged to Laura's father. Abigail had been surprised to see it; she hadn't thought Laura cared enough to keep a reminder of her father around.

Steele had said nothing when he noticed the framed picture of himself by her bed. Was that important to Laura? To see his face every night before bed and every morning when she woke up?

He felt a stab of pain in his chest every time he thought about it.

"Boss?"

Mildred was sitting in the couch across from him, staring at him.

"Were you thinking about her?"

Of course. Who else would he be thinking about? What else could occupy his mind? Awake or asleep, he had thought of nothing but Laura since Friday night. If he were being honest with himself, he would know that he had been thinking of Laura for a lot longer than 144 hours. She stayed in his thoughts and in his dreams since he very first saw her. If she didn't, Steele thought he would have left a long time ago. Lately, he was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to leave Laura. Now, since her disappearance, he knew that he never could.

Why did it have to take such a tragedy for him to realize what had been so obvious for so long?

"Boss, what if . . .?"

Whatever Mildred had been about to ask, it was lost forever at the knock on the door. For one brief moment Steele thought that maybe, just maybe, it was Laura, returned at last.

He opened the door and welcomed Tatiana into Laura's apartment.

"I feel contentment here," began Tatiana, without even introducing herself or shaking Steele's hand. "Whoever lives here, that person loves this place very much."

Mildred dabbed her eyes with a wad of tissue. "Miss Kolchek, I'm Mildred Krebs, the one who asked you to come. This loft belongs to my good friend . . ."

"No," Tatiana interrupted. "Don't tell me. It's better if I know less."

They waited while she walked around, touching photos and blankets and even the ballet bar on the wall.

"A young woman," she said. Steele noticed that Mildred was taking notes. "Pretty, vibrant, a love of life." She picked up a photo of Laura with Frances, Donald, Steele, and the kids. "This is her." She ran her finger over the image of Laura, who looked so pretty in a simple white cotton dress, with her hair brushed loosely away from her face. "Her job involves thinking. Deducing. Figuring out problems. Ironic."

"How?" asked Steele. The woman looked at him, surprised.

"Ironic because she figured out everyone's problems but her own. There was someone she loved very much, but although she thought on it day in and day out, she couldn't figure it out. And it was so simple."

Steele caught the past tense. Was Tatiana indicating that Laura was dead?

"Can you tell us where she is right now?"

"I need something that she was in contact with right before . . . right before."

There was a large plastic bag on the kitchen counter. Steele had arranged with Travon to use it just for this purpose. Although Travon didn't agree with the use of psychics in missing persons cases, he did agree to allow Steele to use the sweatshirt. Steele pulled it from the plastic bag and handed it to Tatiana.

For a moment Tatiana held it like she didn't know what she was holding. She looked confused, and Steele thought she was going to hand it right back. Then she pulled it close to her chest and held it as if it were a cherished teddy bear, needed for comfort. She closed her eyes. Seconds later her brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth turned down. She looked like she was suffering a great deal from some physical or emotional pain.

"So scared," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "So cold."

"What happened?" asked Mildred. "What happened to Laura?"

"First I get a feeling of wanting to help. Something is hurt and she wants to help it. Then I get a feeling of confusion and embarrassment. Then two feelings at once: arms encircling her from behind – she can't move; it hurts – also a smell. A horrible smell.

"Pain. Something hurts her in her arm. She feels disconnected. She opens her mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. She feels herself being carried and then dumped. Her arm hurts. She can't move her legs or arms. She can't scream. Then everything is black."

Silence. Mildred's wad of tissue was a soggy mess. Steele hardened his eyes. He would not cry. That wouldn't help Laura.

"Is she dead?" he asked. "Is that why everything went black?"

Tatiana shook her head. "No. What I'm getting from the reading of the sweatshirt is that she was drugged, but not killed. When did she disappear?"

"Last Friday night," replied Mildred, grabbing more tissue from a box on the coffee table to wipe her nose. "Around 10:00, they think."

"Well, then, last Friday night at around 10:00 she was still alive. I don't know about now."

"Can you find out?" Steele exploded. "I mean, for God's sake, how will it help us to know what she went through Friday night? How can we help her knowing that she was attacked and drugged and terrified? We need to know where she is now! We need to know how to help her now!"

He was quickly losing it. If he could just cry, just let some of the tension out like Mildred was doing, he might do better. But he couldn't. It was as if he was traveling through a tunnel and at the end of it was Laura, and there was nothing in between that could keep him from his goal.

"I could do a trance," said Tatiana. "I try to make a connection with the, uh, victim. You know, think what they're thinking and see what they're seeing. I could do that."

"Then let's do it," said Steele. "Right now."

Tatiana still held Laura's sweatshirt in her lap, as well as a photograph of Laura. She sat relaxed in Laura's club chair, breathing deeply, eyes closed. "It's cold where I am," she said in a quiet, small voice.

The voice sounded so familiar, Steele perked his head up and listened intently. Tatiana had said that when she was deep in a trance, she might very well sound like Laura. That happened sometimes, she said. The connection was so strong that two became one, even from long distances apart.

"Laura?" said Steele tentatively.

Tatiana's breathing became raspy, as if she was having trouble taking air into her lungs.

"If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to die."

It sounded so final. It was final.

"How can we help you, Laura? Tell me what to do. Tell me where to go, and I'll come get you."

"Ambulances."

"Laura?" said Steele. It felt strange to be talking to Laura and looking at Tatiana. "Give me something I can go on. What do you see?"

Tatiana touched her face, first her eyes, then her lips. "It's dark. My eyes hurt. There's light in the corner, where the tape's coming up. I see her feet. She wears white shoes."

"Laura, where are you? Ambulances and white shoes aren't much to go by."

But Tatiana was silent. He saw that little beads of perspiration were breaking out on her forehead. Her eyes were heavily lidded, and her skin held a pasty hue.

"Laura?"

"No more," rasped Tatiana. "I can't take the cold anymore. I can't take the sadness."

Mildred pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around Tatiana's shoulders. "Let me get you some tea," she said.

"No," said Tatiana, putting her hand on Mildred's arm. "I'm fine. I just need to rest a minute, then I should go."

A thousand thoughts were going through Steele's mind. Laura was in pain and she was cold. Okay, he could get past that if it meant helping her. Ambulances. White shoes. What did that mean?

Mildred was shaking Tatiana's hand and showing her to the door, so Steele did the same. He was like an automaton, acting like he was expected to on the outside, but a mishmash of nerves and emotions on the inside.

"You know what I can't figure out?" said Mildred after thanking Tatiana one more time and closing Laura's loft door.

"You mean you figured part of it out?" Steele asked sardonically.

Mildred seemed to move in slow motion as she busied herself tidying the loft of the few things that had put out of order. She washed out the coffee carafe, as well. "What really bothers me is Mary Anderson. Where does she come into play in all this? Why would she have this vision in the first place?"

"What are you thinking?"

"I think she deserves some investigation."

"I think you're right. Do a background check on her, Mildred. I'm going to check out her house tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

Steele drove Laura's Rabbit to Mary Anderson's bungalow and waited. It was early, the sun hadn't even risen, but Steele hadn't gotten much sleep.

_It's cold where I am_, Tatiana had said in that eerie voice that sounded so much like Laura. A scared, small Laura.

It was around 4:00 in the morning when the first light went on in Mary's house. Steele watched as, over the next hour, more lights turned on around the house. Then he watched Mary, dressed in a plain white dress, white hose, white shoes, and a white sweater, open the door and step out onto the porch.

It appeared Mary was a nurse.

Not the pet groomer she claimed to be.

_White shoes_, Tatiana/Laura had said.

He watched Mary get into a Volkswagen Bug and drive away. He would deal with her later. Right now he wanted to see what was in that house.

Steele let himself into Mary's bungalow easily, using his pick to unlock the back door. Mary's kitchen was a sunny yellow, tidy and neat, counters scrubbed and shining. A neat little round table was covered with a woven cloth. The calendar on the wall had photographs of kittens, a different kitten for each month. Steele could recount many times when he and Laura let themselves into a strange house or office to snoop around. Laura always seemed to know where to go and what to look for. Steele found himself poking around in drawers and cabinets without any real idea what he was doing. The kitchen seemed like any ordinary kitchen: dishes and spoons and forks and knives; a toaster and a coffee maker; napkin rings and salt and pepper shakers and a sugar bowl. Nothing sinister.

Steele wandered from room to room, feeling more and more inadequate. Would Laura have found what she needed to find by now? If it were Steele in the cold, dark place, would she have found him by now?

Answers came in Mary's bedroom. It was as neat and tidy as the rest of the house. Her bed was nicely made, the dresser was dusted and had a little collection of small glass animals neatly arranged on a doily, and her clothes were hanging in orderly rows in the closet.

He checked the thermostat. It had been icy cold in this room when he and Mildred had visited. The thermostat seemed fine. It was set at seventy-two degrees. Steele gave it a tap for no reason at all, other than to make some sort of physical contact with it. The cover of the thermostat fell to the floor.

Oh, great, now he'd broken it. Mary would know for sure that someone had been in her house. As he tried to fit the cover back on, he noticed something unusual.

A timer.

A timer that was set for 10:00; a timer that would cause the temperature to drop drastically.

So. His instincts were right about Mary Anderson. It appeared she was indeed a fraud.

Laura would be so proud.

With renewed hope and fervor, Steele continued to search the bedroom. There must be another clue somewhere. It was when he opened a bedside table drawer that Steele's breath caught in his throat. Duct tape. Two large rolls of it. And a small leather case that contained a hypodermic needle and a small vial of something labeled Diazepam. Steele pocketed them. At the very least, maybe Tatiana could do another reading using these items.

He felt a bubble of excitement in his belly. They were finally doing something to help Laura. They finally had a clue to go by. He wanted to find out what information Mildred had, and he wanted to finally get to the bottom of this. For the first time, he felt that such a feat wasn't an impossibility.

He just hoped it wasn't too late for Laura.


	7. Chapter 7

"I can't believe we let her pull the wool over our eyes, Boss," Mildred said back at the office. "I mean, I can't help thinking that Miss Holt would have looked into Mary Anderson's past before buying that stupid "vision" story."

"You're probably right, Mildred," said Steele. He had placed the duct tape and the Diazepam on the table in his office, and both he and Mildred sat staring at it. He couldn't attest to Mildred's thoughts, but the horrors parading through Steele's mind made his heart race. Laura, bound, drugged – it was nearly more than he could bear.

"What did you dig up on our Ms. Anderson?" he finally asked.

Mildred opened the file she had created for Mary Anderson. "She doesn't work at a pet store like she told us," Mildred said. "Her brother does, though. He just served seventeen years out of a twenty-year sentence for armed robbery. A robbery in which he took a hostage and held her against her will for three days during a stand-off with the police. It's because she wasn't harmed in any way that he didn't get life."

"Well," said Steele, stating out loud what both of them were thinking. "Then maybe Laura has a chance."

"Mary works as a . . ."

"Nurse," interrupted Steele. "But where?"

"At the LA Free Clinic normally," Mildred said. "She works part time. But get this: before she worked at the clinic she came from Pine Ridge."

"Where's that?"

"In the mountains," said Mildred. "It's one of those yuppie resort towns. Boss . . ." She looked pointedly at him. "This time of year, it's pretty cold in a place like Pine Ridge."

Steele eyed Mildred. They had all these puzzle pieces, but everything was scattered. Nothing was fitting into place. "Let's review the facts," he said. "We know Laura was abducted in her parking lot. We were told by a psychic . . ."

"By a good psychic," interrupted Mildred.

". . . that Laura was drugged. Not exactly fact, since it came from a psychic. But we did find Diazepam in Mary's house."

"Diazepam is a tranquilizer," said Mildred. "Valium. I've never seen it like this, though. I think it's usually a pill."

"Mary could have access to the drugs at the clinic," reasoned Steele. His heart was pounding. It felt good to be doing something.

"Or her brother could have gotten it," said Mildred. "The pet place where he works is connected to a veterinarian's office. They use Diazepam on animals, too."

There was a knock at the door. "Hello!" It was a woman's voice. Mildred and Steele shared a look.

"I'll get rid of whoever it is," said Mildred. "Then we can do more digging."

They stood together. At that moment Mary Anderson peeked in. Steele slid quickly in front of the table, blocking her view of the duct tape and Diazepam. Thinking and moving quickly, Mildred hustled Mary into the main office. "Thank you for stopping by," Steele heard her saying. He gathered the stolen tape and drugs and whisked them into his own desk drawer. Mildred was still talking: " . . . just on our way out. Would you like to make an appointment?"

"I had another vision," he heard Mary say.

"Mildred," called Steele through the door. "Maybe we can take a moment to hear what Ms. Anderson has to say."

He caught Mildred's withering gaze, directed toward the back of Mary's head.

Mary Anderson looked around Steele's office in wonder and amazement. "I can't believe I'm standing here in the office of Remington Steele," she said in a breathy voice. "The Remington Steele."

"Hey, wait a minute," challenged Mildred, her eyes narrowing. "You said you had to look Remington Steele Investigations up in the phone book."

"I did," said Mary. Steele thought her eye darted, maybe just a bit.

"Then how can you be oohing and aahing over being in his office?"

Without missing a beat, Mary answered, "Well, I had to find out who I was dealing with, didn't I? I looked up some stuff in the library, some old newspaper clippings. I found out some things. It's just . . . such an honor to be here." She grinned, looking around the office, taking in every detail. "And I'm helping. I'm actually helping with a case. If things don't work out with Laura Holt, maybe I can get a job here."

There was a stunned silence. Steele didn't know what to say or how to say it. What was she insinuating? What did she know?

Mildred opened her mouth to speak, but before any words came out Mary was talking again. "But of course we'll find her," she said.

"We?" said Mildred.

"Sure. I had another vision, didn't I?" She settled down into a seat and looked at Mildred expectantly. Frowning, Mary finally said, "If it's not too much trouble, could I get a drink or something?"

"Sorry," Mildred said through clenched teeth. "I've been a little preoccupied. My friend is missing, you know." She left and returned momentarily with a glass of water. Mary frowned a bit deeper at it, then took a sip.

"Thanks," she said. "Okay, well, I was home alone, just like last time. And it got very cold. And I heard the woman's voice. She said, 'Rem . . ."

"Remington Steele," said Steele dryly. "'Get Remington Steele. Help me.' Yes, yes, we know all that. What did she tell you that might help us find her?" he asked.

Mary looked a little stunned. Steele would play along with her for now, but if it came down to it, he would do anything to help Laura Holt. Even if it meant holding this woman upside down from her ankles outside his office window.

Cheeks flushing hot pink, Mary took another sip of water and cleared her throat. "Okay," she said quietly. "I can see you don't believe me. The lady said, 'Nero,' if that means anything to you. As if you care." She stood to leave. "It doesn't matter to me," she said, walking toward the door. "I won't help you anymore. And without my help, you'll never find Laura Holt." She looked at them, as if she expected them to say something, then turned in a huff.

Steele heard the main door open and close. "Dig up what you can on Pine Ridge and on Mary's brother," he told Mildred. "I'm going to follow her. Maybe she'll lead me right to Laura."

"Was there anything about Laura's cat Nero in the paper?" Mildred asked, rushing toward the door so as not to lose Mary Anderson.

Steele shook his head. "Nothing," he said as Mildred dashed out the door. "Mary Anderson definitely knows something about Laura's disappearance."


End file.
